


welt

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Bottoming from the Top, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Caning, Cock Rings, Creampie, Crying, Daddy Kink, Daddy Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Dom Will Graham, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Bottom Will Graham, Punishment, Sadism, Sex Toys, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "Then why am I angry?"Hannibal presses his lips together, his shoulders sagging. "Because I lied to you."





	welt

Will finds Hannibal as soon as he gets home – he's in the kitchen, pulling out fresh ingredients for their meal-to-be. He stiffens, sensing Will as he always does, and turns to meet his eyes. The warm, welcoming smile he gives is almost enough to cut Will's teeth, to gentle the rage burning his spine and turning it molten.

Almost.

Hannibal's demeanor changes, when he takes in Will's. His eyes darken, his shoulders lower and stiffen, and he straightens up, and tilts his head. Will lifts his upper lip, shows his teeth, and stalks into the kitchen with a soft noise.

"Come here," he demands, and stops just past the threshold. Hannibal presses his lips together, a strangely guilty look on his face, but he obeys, and comes to Will, halting just close enough that Will can reach out and touch him, if he wants.

Will jerks his chin, grits his teeth. His fingers curl, and then flex wide.

"Do you think you're smarter than me?"

Hannibal blinks, dark irises brightening in a brief show of surprise. It's uncharacteristic of him to show emotions so clearly, but Will has always been able to read him. Hannibal broadcasts his thoughts as loudly as a megaphone when it comes to Will.

He parts his lips, slips his tongue between them, and shakes his head. "Of course not," he replies. "I might have had access to higher education than you, but I would never assume that makes me more intelligent. Just more learned."

It's a placative, gentle response. It's a kind response. It's also exactly what Will doesn't want to hear.

He snarls, and turns away. Wants to pace, and growl, and snap his teeth around something soft and warm. But he remains still, because if he starts moving he might not stop – might turn, and lunge, and do the kind of damage he doesn't like looking at in the morning light.

Hannibal eyes him, unmoving as stone.

Will heaves a breath, lets it fill his lungs to bursting. Lets it out slowly. He meets Hannibal's eyes just long enough to see him grow nervous, and then turns on his heel, walking towards the stairs. He knows, without looking, that Hannibal will follow him. Will's fingers curl like he's holding a leash, and thinks of collaring Hannibal, of cinching soft leather tight around his neck and making him crawl. Hannibal would let him – there's no end, Will has found, to the things he'll do to earn Will's smile.

He goes up the stairs, panting by the time he reaches the top, and gestures towards Hannibal's bedroom door.

"Get undressed," he commands, and doesn't look to see if Hannibal nods. "Meet me in the other room when you're done."

Hannibal's exhale quakes in the air, something eager and soft and yet sharp. Will brushes past him.

"Sir," Hannibal breathes, and Will freezes in place. The molten anger in his spine flexes its claws, his shoulders arch like a cat under its master's hand. He tilts his head and lets Hannibal see he's listening. "Should I prepare myself for you, as well?"

Will's lips twitch – an involuntary smile that is too quick and sharp to be kind. "No," he replies. Hannibal nods, and Will listens to him move to the bedroom. Hears the door open, and click shut.

He breathes out, and goes to the other room at the opposite end of the upstairs hallway. The room is barren except for a utilitarian bed, and a single closet that they keep locked. Will unlocks it, and opens it, taking out a thin, long cane, and, after another moment's thought, a cock ring and prostate massager.

He sets those things on the end of the bed, takes off his socks and shoes and jacket, creating a neat pile that he tucks beneath the bed. By the time he is finished, a soft knock comes on the door, though it is still open.

Will turns his head and sees Hannibal standing there. He goes to the door, opening it all the way. Hannibal lingers at the threshold, his bare toes touching the doorjamb. He is completely naked, his skin tanned and soft on the eyes, his shoulders broad, stomach and hips and thighs thick with his age and strength. His chest, covered in a matt of curling, grey hair, that narrows to a trail that joins the neatly-trimmed thatch of it surrounding the base of his cock.

He's half-hard, and thickens with anticipation when Will watches him. Will tilts his head, raises his eyes, and arches an expectant brow.

Hannibal's nostrils flare on his exhale, his lashes dip to hide the wideness of his pupils, and he sinks to his knees in a graceful motion.

Will smiles. "Good boy," he purrs, because he believes in giving praise where it's due. He steps forward and slides a hand through Hannibal's mussed hair, finds that Hannibal has combed water through it, ridding it of product, so Will can touch the soft, thin strands without feeling it there. He knots his fingers tight in Hannibal's hair and shoves his face against Will's cock. Makes him breathe in the scent of Will, the musk and sweat from his day.

Hannibal shivers, and his hands lace tightly behind his back.

"Do you know why I'm angry?" Will asks, curious if Hannibal will try to play dumb, or if he will attempt to distract Will with his tongue and the noises he makes when Will is mean to him. Hannibal tilts his head up, giving Will a quick flash of his eyes, his pinkening cheeks. He swallows.

"I killed a man without your permission," he replies.

Will hums, staring down the hallway, where Hannibal's bedroom door is once again closed. The lights from downstairs flood up the stairwell, creating a rectangle of orange on the opposite wall. He pets through Hannibal's hair idly, brings his other hand forward to join the first, making sure Hannibal's nose and mouth is tucked tight to him. Hannibal's exhale is warm, and Will wants to let his cock harden, wants to pull it out and fill Hannibal's mouth until he chokes.

But he wants his answers, first.

"Are you going to try to convince me he deserved it?" he asks.

Hannibal shakes his head – he will never apologize for what he does, it's not in his nature. He whispers; "You know why he deserved it."

And Will does. It had taken two minutes of digging into the man's backstory to learn he was a serial abuser, to his girlfriend and ex-wife both, and certainly not a man even worth eating.

"But," Hannibal adds, "I acted without permission. I killed him because I wanted to."

Unbidden, Will shivers.

"We can't just do things because we want to do them," he says.

"It felt good," Hannibal says.

Will knows it felt good. His cock twitches, fissures of heat and desire flooding his stomach like rivulets joining a stream, adding to the current. He ruts his growing erection absently against Hannibal's mouth, pleased when Hannibal limply accepts it, parts his lips to let Will dig a furrow between them through his clothes.

"Doesn't pleasing me feel good?" he asks.

"Unequivocally."

"You know that's not why I'm angry."

Hannibal falls silent, and Will snarls, pulling away and yanking fiercely on his hair, until he lifts his eyes. "Don't lie to me, don't play innocent. If you try, I'll leave you here and I won't touch you until I get my answer."

Another flash of emotion passes behind Hannibal's eyes – not quite horror, but something desperate and terrified at the idea. It took no effort to get Hannibal reliant on Will's touch, but the correct triggers are delicate things to cultivate, and Will spent a lot of time making sure he got the formula right. Until even the slightest suggestion that Hannibal would be robbed of his touch, in any capacity, makes him tremble.

"I won't, Sir," he murmurs.

"Then why am I angry?"

Hannibal presses his lips together, his shoulders sagging. "Because I lied to you."

"And?"

"And everyone. I made it look like someone else did it."

"You _tried_ ," Will hisses, and shows his teeth. "You tried to trick me."

Hannibal stares up at him, wide-eyed.

"I'll ask again; do you think you're smarter than me?"

"No," Hannibal says, and he breaks; shakes his head, unwinds his fingers and reaches for Will, pawing at his hips. "No, daddy, I swear."

Will meets his eyes, carefully, for a long time, but finds no deception there, finds nothing but open, honest truth. He releases Hannibal's hair with another snarl, and steps away from him, pleased when Hannibal lets out a quiet, wanting noise, and his hands fall away.

"Come inside," he says, and turns to watch Hannibal crawl into the room. He comes forward and closes the door behind Hannibal, nudges him away like a nosey dog when Hannibal tries to reach for him again. Then, he grabs the cane, and snaps the end of it against his palm. "Over the bed."

Hannibal shivers, but obeys, crawling to the edge of the bed. It's low enough for him to still be on his knees when he presses his chest on it, his hands stretching up above him as though trying to grab the opposite edge.

Will does smile, then, soothed at the sight of Hannibal so willingly making himself bare and prostrate. Open, vulnerable – Will could hurt him terribly like this.

He steps up to Hannibal, fists a hand in his hair, and straddles his hips, grinding his hardening cock into the dip of Hannibal's spine as he leans down, and bites at his ear;

"I had to analyze that crime scene for forty-eight minutes," he growls. Hannibal shivers. "Forty-eight minutes where I had to pretend it wasn't my sweet boy that had left such a lovely gift for me." He taps the end of the cane against Hannibal's knee. "Forty-eight minutes. Forty-eight strikes. Sound fair?"

Hannibal shivers, and Will sees him wince.

"Maybe I'll be nicer," Will muses, and stands, shoving Hannibal's head down. "I don't _like_ hurting you, baby, you know that, right?"

Hannibal lets out a sweet, soft noise. They both know that's not quite true – Will is a relentless lover, whether it's pain or pleasure he's indulging in, as merciless and driven as the killer he loves.

He snaps the cane against his palm again, sharp enough to sting. Thinks of using it on Hannibal's thighs until they purple and welt; thinks of bringing it down on his back until the skin parts. Thinks of, perhaps, caning his feet, until Hannibal cannot walk.

He smiles.

He comes up to Hannibal's hip, leans down and pets through his hair once – both to soothe, and to warn. "Count for me," he whispers, and Hannibal nods, closing his eyes and bowing his head, his shoulders tense in anticipation of the blow.

Will brings the cane down sharply, just below his shoulder blades. He doesn't believe in warming Hannibal up first, and he doesn't ease him into it – every blow is as hard as the last, and he waits only long enough for Hannibal to gasp, and moan 'One', before he hits again. One becomes two, becomes ten, as Will lays a thin ladder of marks down his back, each one turning the skin red and rising like a blood moon.

He gets to twenty, and Hannibal is trembling for him, his knuckles white on the bed, his face hidden behind his bicep so his numbers are muffled. Will hums, tilts his head, and drags the end of the cane up between his thighs, poking indelicately at his balls, and then his exposed hole.

Hannibal tenses up, and lets out a quiet, unsure noise.

"I'll be nice to you, since you were honest with me," Will says quietly, petting down his burning, injured back. Hannibal shivers, and Will's smile widens, as he leans down and kisses Hannibal's sweaty shoulder. "Roll onto your back. Keep your knees on the floor."

Hannibal obeys with a soft, injured noise, wincing as his hurt back presses against the bedsheets, his knees spread out wide and body arching as he makes himself contort, to obey Will's desire. His cock is still hard, flushed and leaking into the open air, his thighs trembling and thick with muscle, his chest heaving as he settles on his knees and shoulders.

"Good boy," Will purrs. He sets the cane down, giving Hannibal a moment to recover, and sheds his clothes quickly, throwing them in a haphazard bundle onto the floor. Hannibal lifts his head, eyes dark and wide as he stares at Will ravenously.

Will smiles at him, and retrieves the cock ring and the prostate massager. He kneels down, spits on the silicone ring, and works it over Hannibal's erection until it bunches up tightly behind his balls. The only gentleness he allows is shifting it to make sure it doesn't tug on any pubic hair, and if Hannibal feels any discomfort, he doesn't voice it.

The massager is short and thin, bulbous at the tip, and angled to press against the most sensitive place inside a man. He sees Hannibal eyeing it, anticipating Will forcing it into him dry – he's ready for it, thighs parted in invitation, breath heavy, but Will has no intention of using it on him.

Instead, he steps between Hannibal's knees, leans and looms over him with one hand braced on the bed. Hannibal's chin tilts up, desperate to be kissed, and Will smiles, parts his lips and lets a bubble of open air settle between their teeth. He doesn't let their mouths meet, doesn't give Hannibal the satisfaction of his kiss.

He pulls back with his other hand, lashes fluttering as he touches the smooth head of the massager against his own entrance, where he's slick and sensitive – because no matter what Hannibal tried to do, Will knew it was him, and couldn't stop himself from teasing himself open, jerking off quick and messy in his car before the anger had taken over and he'd driven home. He knows Hannibal smelled that, too, when Will forced his face to Will's cock. He's wet and open enough to work the toy in, gasping in a way that makes Hannibal moan, clearly wanting to arch up and grab, and claw.

Will presses until the toy is angled just right, and turns it on. Immediately it begins to buzz, dull vibrations against his prostate that make the stream of arousal in his belly suddenly surge, a flooded dam full to bursting.

"Oh, _fuck_ yeah," he moans. Hannibal whimpers, eyes shining with need. Will lets himself feel the toy for a moment, works it over his prostate in little circles until his cock is so hard it drips onto Hannibal's. Hannibal squirms in place, panting and sweating, staring with naked want up at Will.

Will's lips twitch, and he nudges their foreheads together, growling as he turns up the setting, so the vibration gets stronger, the sound of it higher-pitched. His knees shake, locking up sharply, and he growls when Hannibal arches beneath him. He's undoubtedly in pain, but when Will meets his eyes he sees nothing but desire – the need to touch Will, to taste him, to take everything he wants to give.

"I'd have let you fuck me, if you behaved yourself," Will breathes, and straightens up, touches Hannibal's cheek almost tenderly. Smiles, when he sees the flash of regret, deep in his wide pupils. "But when my boy can't behave, daddy has to use his toys, doesn't he?"

He pulls away before Hannibal can answer, grabs the cane in his free hand and keeps his other one on the end of the massager, groaning at the new angle. He brings the cane down sharply on the top of one of Hannibal's thighs, making him flinch and growl, tilting his head back. He tries to pull his knees together, but can't because Will is still standing between them. His hands flutter, instinctively wanting to protect his cock, nervous for the proximity of the cane.

Will lifts his chin, arches his brows. "What number?"

Hannibal swallows, looks up at him. "Twenty-one, Sir," he replies.

"Good boy," Will murmurs, and brings the cane down again on his opposite thigh. "Just making sure."

He gives Hannibal's thighs five swats each, and peppers the rest on his chest, growling as Hannibal moans and arches away from the blows, trying to escape and protect himself. Always hiding – Will _hates_ that.

"Stay still," he commands, "or I'll fucking make you."

Hannibal breathes out, clenches his jaw, shivers. They're up to forty now. Eight left.

Will steps back, and smiles, dragging the tip of the cane down the line of hair on Hannibal's belly. He lifts his chin when Hannibal meets his eyes, and Will knows Hannibal knows exactly what he means to do. He waits for the protest, and when it comes, it is in the form of a soft, sweet noise, a desperate look in Hannibal's eyes when he says;

"Please."

Will tilts his head. Dips the tip of the cane beneath Hannibal's balls.

"Why should I?"

Hannibal swallows again.

Will smiles. "Go on, baby," he purrs. "Convince me you don't deserve it."

Hannibal stares at him like Will is a brand new species of animal he's never seen. But no protest comes – his words curl, gather air, but come out as nothing more than a breath. He settles his hands by his head, spreads his knees, and tips his head back. Closes his eyes.

Will growls, and pulls the toy out of himself – the sounds Hannibal makes when Will hurts him are enough to send him over the edge, and he has other plans. He turns it off and tosses it on the bed, sees Hannibal's brow crease in confusion, and he opens his eyes to look at the toy as it rolls to a halt by his hand.

Will strikes in his distraction, brings the cane down on Hannibal's exposed cock. Hannibal snarls, showing his teeth, and tenses up all over. He meets Will's eyes as Will hits him again, his cock turning so darkly red, unable to soften because of the ring around the base. He can't hide like this, can't run away – Will hits him again, and again, and Hannibal's cock is weeping, his injured thighs shaking so hard that he would be unable to stand if Will made him.

He cries out after the third strike, sharp and loud, snarling lowly when Will merely grins and hits him again. Hannibal always makes the sweetest noises when Will hurts him – animal, rough, wanting to strike back but reined in and collared by his love for Will. Will makes him weak; Will makes him want.

Will stops, after the last one, and Hannibal groans. "Forty-eight, Sir."

Will smiles, and sets the cane down. "Good boy," he whispers, and runs a hand through his hair. "I'll let you make a choice, now."

Hannibal's eyes sharpen, and he lifts his head.

Will wraps a hand around his cock, shivers at the press of his dry, callused palm around sensitive flesh. He's close, just from hurting Hannibal, from hearing the noises he makes, relishing Hannibal's surrender, for it is a thing Will knows Hannibal only gives him.

"You can fuck me, or you can watch me jerk off. Whether you come or not is irrelevant to me," Will says, and Hannibal shivers, eyes bright at the sharp reminder of Will's cruelty. Penetrating Will promises he might achieve his own orgasm, but after being caned, it will hurt.

Hannibal swallows, and looks at him with eyes brimming with so many emotions Will could not name all of them. "If I choose the latter, will you allow me to touch you?" he rasps.

"Also irrelevant to your decision," Will replies, cutting and cruel.

Hannibal winces, and Will is almost merciful. Almost breaks. But he won't – he might not be as 'learned' as Hannibal, but he's stronger when it comes to this. He is the one holding the reins, the one who tells Hannibal who and when and how. Hannibal broke those rules, and this is the punishment for it.

Hannibal must sense it too, for his shaking body goes lax with surrender, and he whispers; "I need to touch you."

Will nods, and from the closet he takes out a bottle of lubricant. "Get on your back on the bed," he says, listening to the creak of the bed as Hannibal obeys. He pours some lubricant onto his fingers, warms them, and returns to Hannibal, finds him red and sore and shaking, and straddles his caned thighs.

Hannibal hisses in pain, pawing at Will's hips, and then he lets out a broken, fractured noise that feels dragged from the base of his spine, as Will wraps his slick hand around Hannibal's cock, feels it burning and welted under his fingers. He doesn't bother stretching himself – he wants to be tight, wants it to hurt.

He releases Hannibal, slides forward on his knees, and guides him inside, sinking down in a single stroke. Hannibal's eyes flare open, wide, wide, and brim with reflexive, pained tears. When Will sighs, tilting his head back, his thighs connecting with Hannibal's hips, they spill over and stain his face.

Hannibal fills him up so nicely, always has, and Will sighs again, rolling his hips and clamping down viciously when Hannibal whimpers, flattening gentle hands on his hips. Will knows it hurts – his back, rutting against the sheets as Will moves; his thighs, dragged with sweaty, stinging friction from Will's body over his; his cock, wrapped in searing heat on such sensitive, abused flesh. It feels good to hurt Hannibal like this.

He doesn't touch himself, but spreads his hands on Hannibal's chest, able to feel his hammering heart, and sets a fast, harsh rhythm, rolling his body and lifting up, slamming back down so Hannibal is forced to fuck him hard and rough, piercing Will sharply. His muscles ache from the sudden stretch, but he knows Hannibal is hurting more from it. Knows the tightness of Will's body is torturous to him, as he is.

More tears well up in Hannibal's eyes, and he doesn't try to wipe them away or blink them back – he stares, openly, like Will is some wrathful, demonic thing, his lips parted in heavy breaths as Will moves. Will is shaking, starting to sweat, the feeling of Hannibal caught and caned and trembling beneath him, the sounds he's making as Will fucks himself on Hannibal's abused cock, are lighting up his head, sinking claws into his spine.

"Fuck," he hisses, and wraps a hand around his cock, stroking slow and tight. "Gonna make me come, baby."

Hannibal's hands tighten on his hips. Despite his pain, he tries to help Will move; digs his heels into the bed and lifts his hips into Will's thrusts, meeting him. He clenches his jaw, nostrils flared as he snarls and pants, and Will gasps as, suddenly, he's rolled, and Hannibal is looming over him, hands planted behind Will's thighs as he fucks like his life depends on it.

"Good boy," Will purrs, pleased to see Hannibal so desperate to make him feel good. He wraps a hand in Hannibal's hair and rewards him with a kiss, though it's a breathy thing, and broken by Hannibal's needy cries.

"Daddy," he whispers, the façade of surrender cracking, breaking apart between their sweaty, colliding bodies. His hands tighten and he moans as Will clenches up around him, growling, tilting his head back. He's close enough that he doesn't care that Hannibal is taking control – they both know who's in charge, here.

Hannibal bows down, mouths at Will's neck, lets out a sound that is shaken and desperate and so full of adoration Will's heart beats double-time. Hannibal's mouth is gentle, so gentle, at odds with the fierce thrusts of his hips and the tightness of his nails.

Will sighs, moans sharply as Hannibal's cock finds his prostate again, rutting against the sensitive spot in a way that makes Will's thighs tense, his stomach sinking in. He groans softly, digs his nails into Hannibal's nape, and comes with a low sound, baring his teeth and snapping them around Hannibal's shoulder – finally sinking into something warm and soft.

Hannibal goes still, trembling and breathing harshly. He nuzzles Will's neck as Will shivers, trembling through his orgasm.

"Sir," he breathes, harshly, needing; "May I finish?"

Will smiles, flushed and pleased. "Are you close?"

"Yes."

Nothing to hide.

Will hums, and turns his head to nuzzle Hannibal's sweaty, red neck. "There were five people I had to pretend for, at the crime scene," he murmurs. "You get five thrusts to come."

Hannibal whimpers – such a sweet, eager noise. He tucks his thighs beneath Will's ass, wincing and hissing when the bruises rut against Will's sweaty flesh. He drags his hands down to Will's hips to hold him still, at the angle he wants.

Thrusts, once. Then again.

"Three left, baby," Will murmurs.

Hannibal groans, tipping his head back, his face as mask of pained ecstasy. Thrusts again.

"Two."

Again.

"One more."

Hannibal does, and goes still, moaning weakly, and Will sighs, slides his hands down Hannibal's abused back, and cups his ass, lifting his hips and squeezing Hannibal's cock as tight as he can. "That's it, baby, good boy, fill me up." Hannibal shakes, whining in that terribly soft way he does when Will treats him like this, and runs his hands up Will's flanks, back down, frantic and fluttering.

Will tuts, makes a falsely sympathetic noise. "That's a shame," he says.

"Please," Hannibal begs, and lifts his head, meets Will's eyes. His own are bright, all-black, rimmed with red, his face stained with tears and with Will's sweat. He cups Will's cheek with a tender hand, leans in until their foreheads touch. "Daddy, please, please let me."

Will hums, tilts his head to let Hannibal kiss his jaw. He drags his nails up Hannibal's spine, catching on the welts from the cane, and smiles when Hannibal shivers, moaning raggedly. He squeezes around Hannibal's cock, sensitive himself, adoring the way Hannibal gasps and arches up into his touch, a slave to his need for it.

Will is feeling kind, placated by Hannibal's desperation and the heat of his wounds. He licks Hannibal's neck, digs in with his teeth to tease at a hard bite, and Hannibal moans into his ear. "One more," he allows, and smiles when Hannibal groans in agonized relief. "Make it count, baby."

Hannibal nods, slides his hands back to Will's hips. Tightens until his fingertips might bruise. He shivers, shoulders arching and tensed, his stomach tight and sunken, his eyes closed. He tilts his head, and Will lifts his own, cups Hannibal's nape and kisses him.

Hannibal fucks in, one more time, hard enough that the bed creaks beneath them. Then, with a rapturous, pained moan, he comes. Will smiles, licking into his gasping mouth as he whimpers in relief, trembling fiercely as he empties himself inside of Will. Will pets down his back, up through his hair, sighing in pleasure as Hannibal finishes, and goes limp above him.

Will straightens, guiding Hannibal to his knees so he slips out, shivering at the feeling of Hannibal's come leaking out of him – Will might be cruel, but he's also shameless about what he wants, and he loves it when Hannibal fills him up. "What a good, sweet boy I have," he purrs, lashes low, as he carefully works the cock ring off of Hannibal as he softens, and sets it to one side next to the massager. He takes Hannibal in his arms, soothing him with gentle noises and soft kisses as Hannibal paws at him.

"Thank you, daddy," Hannibal murmurs.

"You did such a good job, baby, I'm so proud of you," Will murmurs to his sweaty hair.

Hannibal's lips twitch in a happy, sated smile. He nuzzles Will's neck, embracing him tightly, desperate for touch, and Will smiles, shifts his weight so he's leaning against the wall, and cradles Hannibal across his lap, so his back and thighs and cock aren't being pushed on.

He takes Hannibal's chin, lifts his head, and kisses him chastely. Says, quietly, but cutting; "Don't try to trick me again."

Hannibal's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "Never. I promise."

Will's smile widens, and he kisses Hannibal deeply. "Good boy."


End file.
